Fate clear cut paradise, to erect a vacant lot.
So I've made up my mind.
Without hope, I skate this path alone.
Unheeded are my salchows and toe loops.
Yankee Flyers were my only mate, as I skate alone.
One an emotional dream street for one.
Some days mountain high, others valley low.
These are the ways, the time goes.
Be not sad for this mono.
My fate, my halo.
In this millennium; everything goes!
Even love can be a mean machine;
and the heart is as risk courting a skating queen.
I only wanted to be her Sledgehammer.
At the rink she was vertiginous and featly keen.
Elsewhere; Satan's Daughter.
Only the precision and panache of an Eckerling;
conducting the Evanston Symphony Orchestra,
could equal the emotional impact of her skating.
The source for some future tragic dramaette,
this wicked love gangsterette!
With the smile that can light up your zip code,
and shift your pate into shut down mode.
Upon which skate of some magical tomorrow,
Will I discover, the lost of this pain and sorrow?
When you speak of me, on that tomorrow,
Speak with Bill's voice.
"Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate,
Nor set down aught in malice:
Then must you speak of one,
That loved not wisely, but too well."
T. Edward Black
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